


Nocturne No. 2 - Dance of the Binary Stars

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Bodyguard Romance, Jedi Matt Murdock, M/M, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Senator Foggy Nelson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26483323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: "After an attempt on his life, a young Galactic Senator agrees to hire a Jedi Knight as a bodyguard. The Jedi in question turns out to be an old childhood friend. Neither one of them is prepared for the powerful pull of the attraction that develops between them. Will the tension between their duties and their feelings bring them closer together, or tear their worlds apart?" - the cheesy back cover blurb if this was whatever the Star Wars equivalent of a Harlequin novel is
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Opening Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what to say guys, my brain went "lol Star Wars" and then it went "lol bodyguard AU" and then I died of YEARNING.
> 
> See the end of the chapter for some notes about character names, etc.

The sky of Coruscant was bright and blue and dotted with clouds when a small, mid-tier transport ship settled onto one of the Galactic Senate’s skydocks. The ramp of the starship lowered with a quiet rumble. Emerging from within, Senator Foggy Nels straightened his deep blue robes. It was a nervous tic he’d never quite overcome, and he only stilled his hands from the task by adjusting the braided and beaded length of blond hair that draped over his left shoulder down to his waist. Taking the final step off the ramp, he set foot in Galactic City for the first time in a decade. Its air was still as sharp and steel-bright as it had been years ago. In the distance loomed a jagged skyline, from which he could pick out a few familiar compounds — the Jedi Temple, the Senate Building, the towering suites of 500 Republica. Glittering spires of progress and prosperity, masking the realities of the undercity below.

He was pulled from these unpleasant thoughts by the clatter of footsteps behind him.

“Don’t get too far ahead!” came an earnest, panicked voice that Foggy had become very familiar with in the three-day trip from Vardos to Coruscant.

He glanced back to see his young security escort scrambling to catch up, jamming his helmet onto his head and nearly tripping over his own pike.

“I’ll be fine from here, Miles,” Foggy said.

“I’m under very strict orders from Captain Mahonei not to let you out of my sight until you’re safely delivered to the Senate Guard,” Miles insisted, with a level of solemnity that made the corner of Foggy’s mouth twitch upwards.

He wasn’t more than seventeen, Foggy was sure of that. Fresh out of community dispatch training, where he’d likely been on desk duty, routing calls for months to get experience in what kinds of issues required which departments before he chose one to enter more specialized training for — fire, medical, maintenance, traffic, de-escalation teams, debris and repair squads, investigators, guardsmen. Though since he’d volunteered to protect Foggy on his way to Coruscant, it was pretty clear what career path Miles was aiming for.

“I don’t think you’ll need to wait long for that, kiddo,” someone interjected from the left.

Foggy started, finally noticing their one-woman welcome wagon.

Of all people, Senate Guard Captain Cara Vers was at the sky dock to meet him, winged helmet wedged casually under her arm. Her golden hair was cropped short, and the grin on her face was teasing.

She hardly looked a day older than when Foggy had last seen her, standing at rest next to the Chancellor as they bid he and his mother farewell. He’d waved goodbye, subtly, fingers just peeking out of the wide hem of his maroon sleeve, and she’d cracked a warm smile that had filled his heart with sunlight.

As a child, shy and well aware of his own clumsiness, Foggy had stuck to the captain’s side at banquets and galas — safely out of the limelight for hours at a time. Even in those days there had been rumors about Captain Vers’s longevity; that though she looked human, she was not quite like anyone else. It had seemed to him then that perhaps she was lonely with everyone gossiping about her, but the truth was more likely that she was kind enough to indulge his own loneliness.

Either way, it was heartening to be greeted by a friendly face.

“Captain Vers, you came all this way for little old me?” Foggy asked.

“Just wanted to hear from the source if the rumors were true. They’ve been saying you blew off a Trandoshan assassin’s head.”

But before Foggy could even think to begin addressing that, Miles had stepped between him and Captain Vers.

“Identification, please.”

She laughed.

“Are you serious?”

Yes, he told her. Yes he was. He’d been charged with a duty by Captain Mahonei and he would see the task done, to the letter. And so, even with all her regalia and the fact that Foggy clearly knew her, Captain Vers had to show her badge and holo-call the guard office before Miles was satisfied to hand Foggy over into her care. It was both admirable and, hilariously, adorable. Foggy made a mental note to give Miles a glowing review to Bret.

After bidding a final farewell, Miles boarded the transport ship again. Within a few minutes — just enough time for the boy to let the pilot know it was time to go — the ship had lifted off to begin its return journey to Vardos.

“Well,” Foggy said. “Lead the way, Captain.”

* * *

“So,” Captain Vers prompted once they’d entered the Senate Building, where Foggy’s Jedi bodyguard would be waiting for him in his new office.

“So?” replied Foggy.

As far as stalling tactics went it was juvenile, yes, but, well. He was the youngest Senator in the galaxy. He could get away with being a little juvenile.

“The Trandoshan.”

“Oh. Him.”

Silence stretched between them through another long hallway, and Foggy studied the people they passed. An elderly red-skinned Togruta official with towering horn-like montrals protruding from her head, surrounded by three harried-looking assistants of different hues. A Senate Guard that gave Captain Vers a respectful nod as they passed one another. A human, young enough he could only be an intern, taking long strides with his nose buried in the datapad in his hands. Captain Vers guided Foggy through a left turn, two rights, and up a flight of stairs with gleaming handrails. On the higher floor, they were alone. The captain leaned closer, nudging their shoulders together.

“Foggy,” she said, almost gently.

It was a form of address as nostalgic as her voice. Though it was how he thought of himself, very few people ever actually called him Foggy — it was something reserved for close friends, people he knew well. With his new position, thankfully, strangers now tended to refer to him as Senator or Senator Nels — he’d had more than enough clumsy fumbling through his atrociously long given name for one lifetime.

“It _was_ a Trandoshan assassin,” Foggy admitted at last, swallowing past his nausea at the memory. “My guard managed to get his blaster off stun before he was incapacitated—” Mauled was perhaps a better word for it, slashed by claws from a huge reptilian hand— “and I _did_ shoot the Trandoshan in the face with it. But I definitely didn’t blow his head off. He’s not actually even dead – but his eyes and snout took a lot of damage, so the doctors don’t know if he’ll ever see or smell again.”

“A Trandoshan that can’t hunt anymore,” mused Captain Vers. “He won’t be able to go home like that, they’d tear him apart.” Her mouth curled, very briefly, into a snarl. “Good riddance.”

Foggy’s hand twitched towards his left shoulder, where his sleeve hid the burn scar which was his own souvenir of the almost fatal encounter. He managed to abort the gesture at the last second, and fidgeted with his hair instead.

“Yeah. Yeah, good riddance.”

“Did he say who hired him?”

Foggy shook his head.

“No. He was still unconscious last I heard. But the investigators are working on it.”

“And your guard?” Captain Vers asked.

“Still recovering when I left. He should be back to full health soon, though.” Foggy paused. “About this Jedi...”

“Nervous?”

Considering they tended to be powerful empaths? Yeah. A little. Though the planet’s infants were tested for midichlorian count like everyone in the Core, Vardos didn’t have a strong Jedi presence the way Coruscant did. He wasn’t used to being around them anymore. But saying that aloud seemed ridiculous, so Foggy just shrugged. When he glanced over at Captain Vers, there was a smirk on her face.

“I think you’ll be satisfied with this one — I recommended him for the job myself.” She nodded at a pair of doors. “This is you.”

His mother’s old office. Foggy hadn’t even thought about how familiar the route had been. There was still some lingering menace to the sight of the doors, but Foggy shook it off. His mother wasn’t there. She was still on Vardos. The only person in that office was sworn to protect him. He took a deep breath that wasn’t as calming as he’d hoped it would be.

When Foggy stepped through the doorway and caught sight of the Jedi within, the entire galaxy ceased its movement. Though he hadn’t thought on their few meetings as children for many long years, there was no mistaking that fiery hair, or the crimson blindfold below it.

_Matt_.

“Senator,” Captain Vers said, her voice murky and distant in Foggy’s ears, “meet one of the Order’s most talented Jedi Knights — Matt Murdock. Master Murdock, Senator Nels of Vardos.”

There were echoes of the young boy Foggy recalled in the man before him, but the differences were astonishing. This wasn’t a sweet, socially-awkward padawan with scuffed-up palms. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his posture radiated power. His palm, when he held it out to shake, was large, and his grip was firm.

But most startling, and most pleasing, was the way his breath caught and his lips soundlessly formed Foggy’s name, turning up at the corners as though he couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you for the introduction, Captain Vers,” Foggy said absently, still drinking in the sight of Matt fully-grown. “And thank you, Master Murdock, for accepting the job.”

Matt wet his lips – full and pink enough that Foggy felt heat inching up the back of his neck just glancing at them – then swallowed. When he finally spoke, his words came out low and rough, but crisply enunciated — and so heavy with meaning that it sent a spark of electricity zipping up Foggy’s spine.

“It’s my pleasure, Senator.”


	2. Introduction of the Countermelody

Whatever Matt had been expecting — a reprimand, a review — it wasn’t this.

“A... A job?”

“Yes,” came the reply. “This will be a bodyguard position, for a Galactic Senator.”

Ah. Lovely.

In Matt’s extensive experience, bodyguard duty could be anywhere from completely grueling to surprisingly pleasant — and where on the spectrum it fell hinged entirely on the person being guarded. Scientists and Mid-to-Outer-Rim ambassadors tended to be the most reasonable and therefore the most bearable. Full delegations were a hassle, so many people to corral, though it tended to be mitigated at least a little by the presence of another Jedi. Core Planet ambassadors and Galactic Senators were the worst. Stuck up, entitled, demanding, weak — everything Matt had grown up hearing that the people of the Galactic Republic were, vitriolic words spilled like molten Beskar all across the surface of Concord Dawn. Those words had echoed in Matt’s ears the night his father snuck them both away from the rest of the clan, to the ships. The night they’d left their world behind.

That had been so long ago — back when he still had his sight. Back when—

The clearing of a throat tore Matt from his reminiscence. He straightened his posture, adjusted his grip on the staff in his hands.

“Despite your previous...” The Councilwoman addressing him sighed. “Incident, with Senator Fiske, Captain Vers has requested you specifically for this job. You’ll be representing the Order in the presence of the Galactic Senate, so I expect behavior that’s befitting of a Jedi Knight. Is that clear, Murdock?”

“Yes, Master Ca’tere,” Matt recited.

“Good,” she said, not unkindly. “Then you are dismissed. Captain Vers is outside to brief you on the job.”

Matt dipped his head in a bow. As he turned to leave, he heard several quiet fizzling sounds — holograms turning off as various off-world Council members closed their transmissions. He’d been understandably wary, at first, being called to a large Council session, but in hindsight it made sense. It had been years since a Galactic Senator had requested Jedi protection — most were wealthy enough to hire more personal security, and outsiders often found Jedi... Unnerving. But on the rare occasion such a prestigious job did come in, it paid very, very well. The Order’s cut of this one contract would likely put enough credits in the coffers to take care of the needs of a whole clan of younglings and still leave Matt with enough to continue to look after his dad for another year. Not that the Order needed to know that was what he was using his wages for.

The doors of the meeting room whooshed open, and Matt was immediately met with a call.

“Hey, Matt, over here. It’s—”

“Captain Vers,” Matt finished with a smile, tapping his way towards her with the metal staff in his hand. “I’d know that voice anywhere. The Masters told me you would have more details on this job?”

“Yes. I got the call two days ago requesting a Jedi bodyguard for a Galactic Senator. They’ll be moving here to Coruscant ahead of the Senate session for their own safety. Turns out local security wasn’t prepared to deal with a Trandoshan assassin.”

Matt let out a low whistle. Hiring an assassin was one thing, but a Trandoshan was entirely another matter. They were relentless, single-minded — a hunt was a matter of pride to them, even more than money. If their mark eluded them, some might spend the rest of their lives pursuing that same prey, even once the bounty money had long run out. Whoever was after this Senator meant business.

“And who, exactly, is this mysterious contract for?” asked Matt. “Who will I be protecting? The Masters didn’t say.”

“The Senator from Vardos,” Captain Vers told him, and Matt grimaced at the thought of Senator Sharpe.

It wasn’t a contract he could refuse, though. Not when the captain had recommended him, not when the Council had already agreed. Still...

“Are you certain that picking me for this one was the right choice?”

Captain Vers didn’t laugh outright, but the huffed exhale that served as answer to his question was close enough.

“If you have any issues with the assignment, I would start getting over them now,” she said. “The Senator arrives in three days.”

Three days. Only three days to prepare himself.

“I need to... Take a walk,” Matt replied.

The captain let him go without complaint.

* * *

Coruscant’s undercity was loud in every sense of the word; chaotic and bustling and difficult to pick into its component parts at the best of times. But Matt had plenty of practice. After all, he’d been sneaking out of the Jedi Temple to trawl the depths of Coruscant since he was ten.

At first, it had been strictly training. Stick’s methods were wholly unorthodox by the Council’s standards, but even he would never have stood for it if Matt had headed to his current destination.

Contact with family was forbidden — to Jedi, to padawans, to younglings. In that, Stick and the others agreed. Family bonds made one volatile, more emotional. Those things, while not flaws in and of themselves, could be lethal for Force users.

People did terrible things in the name of love.

When he’d first been blinded, though — when the whole planet crashed in around him, when the Force dragged him under — Matt had been returned to his father. Jack Murdock had been the only balm at that time, the only way to stop Matt’s screaming. And even when his exponentially deepened connection to the Force had reached equilibrium, even when the Council decided to take him back to the Temple and training with Stick had settled Matt into his new normal... He never forgot.

Stick wasn’t a good man, but he’d taught Matt everything he needed to thrive. More than that, he’d taught Matt everything he needed to know to get back to his father. That was enough.

Through the choking smog, hawking salespeople, busking musicians, and heavy-scented food stalls on the last surface tier of the undercity — a place that buzzed with artificial lights to make up for the way its wealthier neighbors hoarded Coruscant’s sunlight — lay a path Matt knew like the tattoo of his own heart.

“Achuta, Matt!” 

Matt’s quick pace slowed, and he tilted his chin up in a mostly-performative show of exasperation. Only one person on the planet ever spoke to him in languages as foreign as Huttese: Ben Urich.

“H’chu apenkee, Ben,” Matt answered back with a sigh, knowing he’d get razzed if he didn’t return the greeting in kind. “You ever gonna stop trying to culture me?”

“You’re a fancy Jedi now, kid,” the old journalist pointed out. “It’s good to know a lot of languages.”

He wasn’t wrong, necessarily. Being ambushed by Ben’s language lessons did keep him sharp — and the old man had been instrumental in helping Matt learn Galactic Basic in the first place. Considering the ongoing feud between Mandalore and the Republic, he was the only person on Coruscant that knew enough Mando’a — let alone the Murdocks’ heavy Concordia dialect — to try.

But learning languages from the Outer Rim was hardly going to have much use on Coruscant, as cosmopolitan as it was. Mid-Rim and Core Planet languages, maybe, but Huttese?

“I still think you’re just showing off,” Matt told him, grinning.

Ben didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he gave a short inhale and a long exhale, and the strong whiff of tobacco smoke rolled through the air between them. Matt coughed. Ben blew smoke in his face again. Waving it away, Matt grimaced.

“Would you put that thing out?”

“Let an old man smoke, kid. Stars knows I can’t do it in the polite tiers of the city anymore. You move along, and tell old Jack hey for me, will you?”

“I will,” agreed Matt.

He kept walking, aiming a wave over his shoulder. And maybe sent the cigarette in Ben’s hand flying to the ground with a subtle flick of his fingers.

“Murdock! I know that was you!”

Whistling, Matt carried on his way.

* * *

The rest of the journey was uneventful, and when he reached his destination, Matt rapped his knuckles on the door. It was thin, and the metal rang under his hand like a struck bell. After a minute or so there was no answer, though he could hear movement inside. He knocked again. A muffled curse heralded this second knock.

“Ne’johaa,” Dad grumbled, so low that no one but Matt would’ve been able to hear it from outside.

Finally, the door slid open.

“What d’you w— Matty!”

Matt felt a smile blooming on his own face, and didn’t bother to try and stop it.

“Can I come in?”

“What kinda question is that from my own son,” said Dad, which meant ‘yes’.

He stepped to the side, away from where he’d been blocking the doorway with broad shoulders, and Matt entered. The door slid closed behind him, sealing them both in a bubble of safety, warmth, and the scent of delicious stew. Sweeping off his cloak, Matt hung it on the hook by the entrance as usual.

“The Order wouldn’t like it if they knew you were here,” Dad reminded Matt, like he did every time.

“Well, then make sure not to tell them.”

That particular piece of sass earned him a light chuck under the chin.

“That any way to speak to an elder, Matty?” Dad asked in a fake-stern voice that was nearly twenty years in the making.

Matt grinned.

“No, sir.”

“Stars, what’m I gonna do with you,” muttered Dad, even as he folded Matt into a bone-crushing hug and pressed their foreheads together.

Matt squeezed back, tight as he could, and it was like he could finally breathe again. Maybe Jack Murdock had no Force aptitude, but he was alive, wildly and recklessly alive — the Force was in him and on him and all around him. And Matt was so— _blessed_ , to be able to feel it.

But to do so was a dangerous balancing act. Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments. And yet, family bonds were built into Mandalorians at their core. Even with their Beskar discarded, Matt and his father were still a clan. He wouldn’t trade that bond for anything.

After a long, peaceful moment, Dad pulled away and brushed his scarred knuckles lightly against Matt’s cheek.

“Looking thin there, Matty. Lucky you’re just in time for lunch.”

He was pretty sure he wasn’t looking thin at all, but there was no real purpose to disputing it. So, they settled down together to bowls of hot stew. Dad talked about the latest news in the neighborhood — who’d been getting in trouble, the prices at the shops, how his fighting matches were going. In turn, Matt told him about the latest batch of younglings, renovations to the Temple, and finally about the assignment the Council had given him.

By then, their bowls were empty. Dad sighed.

“So, that’s what’s wrong.”

Matt shifted in his seat.

“Who says anything’s wrong?”

“I might not have any fancy Force powers, but I know you, kiddo,” Dad told him, unimpressed. “What’s the problem? It’s just a bodyguard job, same as all the others, isn’t it?”

Well, yes. And no. Matt tried to explain Senator Sharpe to his father — the disdain in her voice, the disregard for anything that conflicted with her agenda. The draining energy of her, like a black hole sucking the life out of everything and everyone around her. Jedi were not supposed to hate, but Matt thought he did hate her, just a little.

When Matt was done speaking, Dad leaned back in his chair, and it creaked softly.

“Well, Matty,” he said. “I think the answer’s real simple. How much is this job worth to you?”

Matt chuckled, shook his head. Dad had a way of cutting right to the heart of things. And maybe... Maybe it really was that simple. The money was good — and it would do good, too. That could be worth putting up with Senator Sharpe. And the fact of the matter was, Matt didn’t want anyone to be murdered, not really. Not even her. So maybe he thought she had never deserved the power and influence she wielded. But turning down a job and leaving someone vulnerable to a gruesome assassination? He couldn’t do that.

“I guess you’re right,” he relented. “It’s worth it, even if the job itself is going to suck.”

Matt could hear the smile in his father’s voice.

“Just hold on to that feeling, Matty, when it gets tough.”

“I’ll try,” Matt promised.

* * *

Three days passed in a flash. Matt spent his time in the Jedi Temple, doing odd jobs and listening in on the younglings’ training. The morning of the third day, Captain Vers arrived to escort him to the Senate Building, and the office for the Senator of Vardos. The Senator herself had not yet arrived — the office was empty of life, and it carried no lingering scent of an occupant. It had been vacant for a long while. Since the last Senate session the previous year, no doubt.

“Go ahead and wait here,” Captain Vers told him. “I’ll be back with the Senator soon.”

Matt nodded, and the door to the office slid closed behind the captain as she exited.

While he waited, Matt acquainted himself with the office. He had already gathered a low-level understanding of its shape and size and layout just from his heightened senses, from the Force whispering in his ears. But he was always more comfortable after physically mapping out a space. He was careful to do this discretely when others were present, but there was no call for discretion at the moment — no one was there to see. So Matt walked the room, counted his steps, trailed his fingers across the office’s surfaces. By the time his examination was complete, Matt could hear Captain Vers returning with her charge in tow — but the voice responding to her questions wasn’t the one he was expecting. It wasn’t clipped or uninterested. No, this voice was deeper and warmer and engaging. His charge wasn’t Senator Sharpe at all.

But who it might be, he had no idea. The voice wasn’t one Matt recognized, though something about the cadence of it registered as familiar.

And then, when Captain Vers entered the office with the Senator, before her words of introduction hit the air, Matt knew. The energy of the Force danced between them, so long parted but never forgotten.

_Foggy_.

Matt held out a hand. Foggy took it.

“Thank you for the introduction, Captain Vers. And thank you, Master Murdock, for accepting the job.”

Up close, Foggy’s adult voice was dazzling — rich and pleasant, full of an easy confidence he’d struggled for as a child. Mouth dry, Matt had to lick his lips and swallow before he could respond.

“It’s my pleasure, Senator,” he rasped, still hardly able to breathe.

The movement of their arms required for the handshake jostled Foggy’s hair, and the sound of it brushing against his cloak revealed it to be longer than Matt remembered.

Much longer.

The desire to reach out and touch it, to see if it was still soft, lodged alarmingly in Matt’s throat, swelling and rising with every breath. He kept the urge leashed only by focusing entirely on the warm hand clasped in his own.

Unbidden, a memory flashed across his mind.

* * *

The Galactic Senate was in session, and the halls of the Senate building were empty. It was the perfect time to practice, and Stick had given Matt free reign of the Federal District to do it. With most people busy, traffic through the building would be thin enough to allow him to concentrate on one person at a time instead of splitting his focus. He walked the halls leisurely, tapping along with his cane, and listened until—

There.

Somebody was heading his direction. Matt waited around the corner, strained his four working senses and his connection to the Force to study them like Stick had been teaching him to do.

They were small, or at least smaller than most bipeds by the weight of their footfall. Their steps tottered eagerly and unevenly as they rushed down the hall. Young. Matt’s age, perhaps, too young to be a Senate aide but smelling faintly of the warm, rich perfumes of wealthier senators. Matt heard the slide of shoe on fabric, and realized the child was going to trip over their robes a second before it happened. A loud smack echoed through the empty hall as their hands and knees impacted the hard surface of the floor.

There was a sniffle. A hitched breath, the tiniest sob. Matt inhaled. Salt. Tears. For several seconds, the child cried. They didn’t move to get up from the floor. Something twisted tight in Matt’s chest.

Swallowing, he made his way around the corner and stopped in front of them.

“Here,” here said, kneeling down to hold out one hand, the other braced on his cane.

As he helped the stranger to their feet, a lock of soft hair brushed against the back of his hand. Matt’s heart jolted a little. Long hair, then. He’d never felt hair so soft before. Clearing his throat, Matt let go and backed up, gripping his cane tightly.

“You should try to be more careful.”

“I am careful! I’m not a little kid, jeez,” came the imperious reply; it was a pretty impressive tone to take despite the kid still sniffling a bit over hitting their knees on the marble floor. “I’m eight-and-a-half years old!”

“Well I’m nine,” said Matt. “And that’s older than eight-and-a-half.”

That seemed to stump them. No reply probably meant the end of the conversation, but the smell of the stranger was warm and soothing in Matt’s nose and their voice rang pleasantly in his ear and it wasn’t like Matt had anything urgent to do. But he also didn’t have much experience socializing, outside of his old youngling clan.

“Are you a girl?” he blurted, and the kid laughed.

“No, my hair’s just long. I’m a boy.” There was a pause. “Hey, you’ve got a red blindfold.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Matt said before he could stop himself.

That was mean. Maybe the boy wouldn’t want to talk after that. But he seemed to brush it off like he didn’t even notice.

“That means you’re Matt Murdock, right? Who saved the ambassador from Bar’leth as a youngling?”

Matt shuffled his feet and twisted his cane in his hands.

“Um. Yeah, that’s me. But what’s your name?”

The boy took a deep breath.

“Fogtarellnikkran Parrser Nels,” he said all in one go, like he’d memorized it that way and didn’t want to pause and give himself the chance to mess up.

“F... Fogta...” Matt scrunched his face a little, trying to wrap his brain and his tongue around the name.

“You can just call me Foggy,” the boy said kindly.

“Foggy,” repeated Matt.

That was much easier.

* * *

Matt jolted back into his body to the realization that he and Foggy were still shaking hands and had been for entirely too long. He snatched his arm back to a cloud of embarrassment shared by both of them. Across the room, Captain Vers made a muffled coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

“Well,” said Foggy. “Well. I, um. I don’t have any business in my office yet, so, I um. Would you escort me back to where I’m staying? Um, please?”

“Yes,” Matt assured him. “Of course.”

“I’ll return to my patrol, then,” said Captain Vers.

All three of them stepped out of the office. Captain Vers turned left, and Foggy and Matt went right.

Thankfully, the further away from the office they got, the more Foggy seemed to settle. His embarrassment and his nerves dissipated from the air, leaving behind a poised statesman and a talented storyteller. As they navigated through the Senate Building’s crowded hallways, he regaled Matt with the story of his years on Vardos, the tutoring he had undergone, and his plans for the upcoming Senate session. Understandably, he made no mention of the assassination attempt. Matt refrained from asking, though he dearly wanted to know who could possibly want Foggy dead. It was something they’d have to discuss eventually, to ensure Matt had an idea of what might be coming at Foggy next, but he didn’t want to sour their first meeting after so long with it. Those things could wait, at least until tomorrow.

Instead, Matt offered up his own stories — his experience in the trials for knighthood, various missions, the recent initiate trials for the younglings to become padawans.

“And do you plan to take on a padawan learner of your own, Master Murdock?” Foggy asked politely — his tone was distant and proper, but suffused with enough quiet fondness to fill Matt’s chest with warmth.

“Not at this time, Senator,” he replied, trying desperately to match that same tone, to let Foggy know that Matt had missed him too. “But maybe someday.”

He was so caught up in their conversation that only after they stepped outside the building did he think to ask where they were headed.

“I’m, uh, staying at the 500 Republica,” admitted Foggy, sounding embarrassed where someone else might have sounded prideful. “Perks of being a Galactic Senator, I guess.”

Matt wanted to tease a little, joke about how he should have gone into politics himself, but he refrained. Foggy was open and kind, but they were supposed to be bodyguard and client — that was the image they needed to maintain for the sake of propriety. Matt wasn’t going to jeopardize that.

“The 500 Republica is here in the Federal District, but it’s still something of a trek. I doubt you’ll want to walk that whole way,” he said instead.

Foggy agreed, so they caught a transport to the doors of their destination. Personally, Matt wasn’t much for surface transports — too much noise, movement, things that threw off his senses and internal map of the world if he didn’t focus. But momentary discomfort was worth the convenience, more often than not.

After stepping inside the lobby of the 500 Republica, they were greeted by the desk droid.

“Senator Nels,” it said brightly, and there was a mechanical click. “We have your room all prepared. Here is your key. Please take the lifts ahead to floor 112. Per Captain Vers’s request, your suite, suite A, is the only one on that floor which will be occupied for the duration of your stay.”

“Thank you,” said Foggy, though he sounded more uncomfortable than thankful.

They walked together to the lifts, and Foggy pressed a button. For several long, quiet minutes, they shot up through the building. Their journey ended with a pleasant ding noise as the doors slid open. Then they stepped out into the hall, and Foggy unlocked his suite.

He’d barely set foot inside before he jerked to a stop, and Matt had to pull up short to keep from colliding with him.

“Oh,” Foggy said. “Uh. Wow, this is fancy.”

His steps further inside were cautious, as though he were afraid to disturb the suite. Matt suppressed a smile and followed him inside. The receiving room was spacious, and sounds were muffled by the density and plushness of the furnishings. Matt was pretty sure there would be a balcony at the far end, and the whoosh of a door let him know that what was probably the bedroom was off to the left.

“Your luggage should all be in the bedroom closet,” Matt said, following Foggy to the doorway but not stepping inside.

“Yeah,” agreed Foggy. “Looks like it’s all here.”

He stretched, a soft groan leaving his mouth after a few pops from his spine. Matt wet his lips, swallowed.

“You’ve had a long flight, and a long day. You should probably rest.”

“I’ll clean up first, I think,” mused Foggy. “Couldn’t really do any bathing on my trip here.”

Matt thought Foggy smelled perfectly nice as he was, but refrained from saying something so foolish. Instead, he nodded, adjusting his grip on his cane.

“I’ll stand guard out here.”

“Thanks, Matt.”

The words were warm, sweet. And Foggy had used his first name. Something twisted in the pit of Matt’s gut. He hurried back into the receiving room, trying to push the sensation down.

Of course, he had to keep an ear out for his charge. The only entrance and exit from the private area of the suite was the room Matt was standing in, but. He had to be alert. Just in case something went wrong.

Foggy hummed under his breath as he turned on the faucet to fill his bath. And each quiet thump of cloth hitting the floor echoed in Matt’s head like a thunderclap. The hand that had shaken Foggy’s at their reunion tingled with phantom warmth. Matt took a deep, deep breath and scrubbed at his face with the heels of his palms.

_Get it together, Murdock. The mind controls the body. This is just a job, the same as any other._

It wasn’t as though this was the first time he’d heard a charge bathing. It had certainly never caused any issue before. Sound was sound, and it could be neatly categorized into unimportant — the quiet sloshing of water, the rub of cloth or soap on skin — and important — frantic splashing, cries for help, blaster fire. The situation he was in should’ve been no different.

And yet, somehow, it was.

Instead of important and unimportant, the sounds of Foggy cleaning off fell more into categories like ‘distracting’ and ‘more distracting’. Instead of easily-dismissible white noise, the quiet drip and splash of water was soothing, comforting. Matt found himself getting lost in it, letting it pull him into a trance, and more than once had to pinch himself back to awareness. It was a nightmare.

After spending a good forty minutes in the bath, Foggy finally climbed out, and the water dripping off him tapped against the tub like a symphony. Matt almost would have described the sound as glittering, if he’d had the audacity to speak about it aloud.

He stayed stock-still through the sounds of Foggy digging around in his luggage and then dressing in sleepwear — soft fabric, and slick; maybe even silk. Only after Foggy was fully dressed again did Matt approach the bedroom and knock on the doorframe. Foggy had left the door open, so there was no need to wait for it to slide away. A heady cloud of blartree blossom scent hit Matt full in the face, and he had to take two or three shaky breaths before he could speak.

“Feeling refreshed?” he rasped, listening to Foggy pat his long hair with a towel.

“Definitely. It’s nice to feel clean again.”

“That’s, uh. That’s good.”

“Yeah. Of course now I have to brush all this hair,” Foggy said, finally setting his towel aside.

The bed creaked quietly as he sat, and then with a clatter he picked an object up off the nightstand. A brush, most likely.

“Would you like some help?” Matt asked before he’d even considered it, holding out a hand.

“Oh! Um, yeah, sure. Here.”

The brush was pressed into his waiting palm, and Matt settled on the bed behind Foggy – after sweeping a palm across the sheets to make sure he wouldn’t be sitting on the very hair he was trying to help detangle. That done, he bundled it all in his hand near the nape of Foggy’s neck and began.

Foggy sighed at the first stroke of the brush, and Matt froze.

“It’s been ages since someone’s done this for me,” admitted the Senator, and the longing in his voice burrowed deep into Matt’s chest.

He lifted his hand for another brushstroke.

“It must be difficult,” he said, voice wavering. “To take care of all this yourself.”

Loose, Foggy’s hair was nearly four feet. Matt had known it was much longer than when they were children, but the braids and styling had hidden just how much. He couldn’t resist rubbing his thumb gently up and down the sleek strands as he held them in place for the brush.

“It definitely takes a while,” agreed Foggy. “But I like it. This was one of the few things I could decide for myself. Honestly, it kept me sane. Everything seems so much simpler when you’re brushing your hair.”

Matt had no idea what that meant. The most he really did with his own hair as an adult was run a quick comb through it.

But then.

Well.

He remembered the rhythmic movements of putting in his padawan braid. How gentle and warm Foggy’s fingers had been next to his ear on the days he’d helped, so long ago. And then Matt thought maybe he did understand. And maybe, just maybe, those memories were also the reason Foggy was so attached to the ritual of brushing and styling his hair.

“Do you.” Matt had to swallow, wet his dry lips. “Do you leave it loose for bed? Or braid it?”

“Braid it, usually. It tends to get all tangled up again if I leave it loose.”

Making an affirmative noise, Matt nodded and continued his brushing. But beneath the steady motion of his hand, his mind was reeling with thoughts of Foggy. Hair loose, falling in his face so Matt could brush it away and tuck it behind his ear. Braiding it for him at night and then brushing it loose in the morning so it could be done up in a more intricate, fashionable style. Falling around them like a curtain, keeping them in their own little world where there was no one else to see—

Matt jolted out of the fantasy, his skin hot and itching with shame. The mind controls the body, he reminded himself. There was a reason Jedi didn’t indulge in families or romances or carnal relationships. The feelings that came with them were unpredictable. Dangerous. Matt was already toeing the line by continuing to visit his father. This? This was a whole quadrant past the line, and it needed to cease. Immediately.

“Matt?”

Matt’s heart lurched again in his chest.

“Sorry.” he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Lost in thought. Would you like me to braid it for you, then, once I’m finished brushing?”

There was a huff of an exhale, not quite a laugh.

“Only if you’re better at it than you were when we were twelve,” Foggy teased.

For that, Matt gave the hair gathered loosely in his fist a gentle tug. A full-blown laugh burst from Foggy’s mouth and rang in the air, delighted and pure.

“Rude,” Matt scolded. “I’m doing you a favor here, you know.”

“I know,” said Foggy, between chuckles. “I know. Sorry.”

He certainly didn’t sound very sorry. But Matt found that he didn’t really mind. He was reaching the last locks of hair in need of brushing, and the strands all parted smoothly under his fingers like silk. Of course, that was only half the job done.

If he’d thought the brushing was bad, it was nothing compared to braiding. At least before, one of his hands had been full of the brush instead of both in direct contact with Foggy’s hair. Gathering the strands, re-gathering them, twisting them over one another in a plait that made the soft hair even more inviting with its patterned texture. The process felt as though it took ages before Matt could hand off the completed braid to Foggy’s waiting hand so a clasp could be fastened at the base.

“This is nice,” Foggy said at last, with both of them sitting on the bed and Matt’s heart doing a ridiculous and unprofessional double-time in his chest. “Definitely going above and beyond for a bodyguard, Murdock.”

“I live to please,” slipped from between Matt’s lips before he could quite stop it, and the tone was so coy he winced.

But Foggy didn’t even seem to notice.

“Yeah,” he replied warmly. “I’m beginning to see that. Guess I’m pretty lucky that Captain Vers recommended you. I.” There was a pause, the wet noise of a swallow. “It really is good to see you again, Matt. I’m happy you’re doing so well.”

“I’m glad you are too. Youngest Galactic Senator in history, that’s pretty impressive.”

Foggy didn’t answer. And the longer the silence stretched, the more troubled feelings Matt could sense in the air.

He’d made a misstep.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, it’s not you. Really.” Foggy reached out a hand, gently squeezed Matt’s fingers. “Just... Thinking about my mother.”

Matt waffled over a response for several seconds.

“How is she, these days?” he decided on at last, carefully neutral.

“Mad I’m not letting her use me as a figurehead,” came Foggy’s reply, along with a snort of dry amusement. “In other words she’s been an absolute nightmare. I’m almost glad for the assassination attempt just to have an excuse to jump planets.”

“Don’t— don’t say that.” Matt’s propriety caught up with him only after he’d blurted the words out. “I mean. I. You can say whatever you’d like, of course, Senator. I promise whoever did this won’t get close enough for a second attempt.”

Foggy’s breathing changed, he held it a little longer and exhaled more cautiously. After several seconds of silence, he spoke again, his tone hesitant.

“When it’s just us, you can call me Foggy, you know. If you want.”

Matt did want. But what he wanted needed to come second to the mission. Matt was supposed to be protecting Foggy, he couldn’t get distracted by their childhood friendship or his own burgeoning and completely unacceptable attraction. So he cleared his throat and shook his head and said:

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Senator.”

Foggy’s flinch was small, but Matt could feel the vibration of it through the bed. There was also a... Closing, Matt supposed he could call it. Foggy’s emotional presence shrinking, his walls going up. Matt longed to apologize, but... The distance between them needed to be maintained. They could be warm, even cordial, but not explicitly friendly.

Dusting off his robes, Matt stood.

“I. I should let you get some sleep. Goodnight, Senator Nels.”

“Goodnight,” Foggy replied quietly.

Matt re-entered the receiving room, and the door to the bedroom slid closed behind him. One of the plush couches made a comfortable resting spot. For several minutes, there was quiet shuffling from the bedroom. But at last, Foggy’s breaths and heartbeat slowed into sleep. Only after that did Matt dare to wet his lips and form them around Foggy’s name — silently, just once, just to feel it. That action alone made his ears go hot.

Matt settled in for a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> I've changed some character names just to Star Wars-ize them a little, so here's the list of alterations so far:  
> Foggy Nels = Foggy Nelson (I'm saving his full name for another chapter, it's gonna be good)  
> Cara Vers = Carol Danvers  
> Bret Mahonei = Brett Mahoney
> 
> I'm a little worried I've used too much SW terminology in my attempt to be ~immersive~, so if it's confusing let me know. I've just been tunneling through Wookieepedia for days fact-checking, lmao


End file.
